


Daddy Trauma

by TheOceanIsMyInkwell



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Crack, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Harley Keener is a little shit, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and way too many flippant religious jokes, like...that's literally all this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27793108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOceanIsMyInkwell/pseuds/TheOceanIsMyInkwell
Summary: “Well, what didyouwrite about in your admissions essay, Mr. Stark?”“Abandonment issues and daddy trauma,” says Tony without missing a beat.“Oh, God,” says Peter.“In my defense, I was fifteen and minors couldn’t go to therapy.”“Oh, Jesus,” it’s Harley’s turn to say.“Going down the list of names in the Holy Trinity now, are we?”--Or: Peter struggles to write his college admissions essay, Harley wants him to write about his trauma, and Tony won't shut up about pesto.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 61
Kudos: 281
Collections: Peter Parker Slaps Severely, ellie marvel fics - read, god tier spider-man fics





	Daddy Trauma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [malyin_roza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malyin_roza/gifts).



> Happy suuuper belated birthday to my favorite scorpio, Malina!! I was planning on gifting you a drabble a long time ago and then (predictably) (due to my adhd) forgot when your bday was and didn't get to it in time. It's been so long since my last proper sit-down to have a go at writing the iron family, but I think I did all right melting back into to Tony and Peter and Harley's voices. I hope this gives you a good, long laugh! Love ya!

At 8:37PM, Peter gives up with a spectacular backward fling of his arms and a groan at the ceiling. It would have all been much more dramatic and satisfying if the office chair didn’t squeak so much as it rocked back, or if DUM-E or U had the sense to make some sympathetic honks or something.

From behind the arm draped over his eyes, Peter can hear the exact moment Tony sets down a tool in the middle of his tinkering.

“Urgh,” Peter mumbles.

Tony sniffs and shuffles in his slippered feet. Peter’s pretty sure he hears the _scritch, scritch_ of the man scratching at his goatee.

“Urgh,” Peter moans, more insistently.

“Okay, I’m all yours, lay it on me, champ,” says Tony, sounding like he’s not even looking up from whatever it is in his hands.

Peter peeks out from underneath his hoodied arm just to check. Yup, Tony’s eyes are glued to the nano-whatever-fuck-all it is between his fingers.

“If this essay had an ass, it would be grass,” Peter gripes.

“Ergonomic sixteen-position office chair just not cutting it, bud?”

Peter decides to glare at the offensively plush arms of said office chair. “If any of its sixteen _delightful_ positions could write my essay for me, I might decide not to set it on fire.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” That seems to pull Tony’s gaze toward him at last. “Who are you and what have you done with Peter Parker? Actually--no, wait--don’t answer that. This is clearly Harley’s doing.”

“Whatever this is, it is clearly _not_ Harley’s doing,” says Harley from the doorway.

Tony swivels to point at the second teenaged pest from the other side of the room. “How are you a walking cartoon show gag?”

Peter lolls his head backwards so it’s hanging upside down over the top of the office chair and hollers at Harley, “Harls. Come do my admissions essay for me.”

Harley sucks on his bottom lip with a pop. “I already dug up my abandonment issues for mine. I’m emotionally exhausted.”

“Yeah, like-- _weeks_ ago.”

“Are you invalidating my daddy trauma?”

Tony snorts. Elegantly. 

Peter shifts so now he’s kneeling on the office chair and resting his chin on his arms over the top. “Please, Harley. I will literally make you pesto if you do this for me.”

Tony folds his arms. “Should I be offended that everyone’s just bypassing the official pesto expert in this room?”

“You’re not a pesto expert, you’re just a pest,” says Harley.

Tony blinks and decides not to deign that frankly abysmal pun. “In this household, who can make a mean pesto with his eyes closed? Huh?”

“Probably DUM-E,” says Peter. “He’s got no eyes.”

DUM-E picks now, of all times, to make an unmistakable noise of offense.

“Or you, when you fall asleep in the kitchen because you never went to sleep in the first place,” Harley adds helpfully.

“The _point_ is,” says Tony, “Peter doesn’t know how to make pesto. He’ll reel you in with empty promises and those--those inconveniently large eyes, and--”

“My eyes are _just_ the right size.”

“Sure, Webkins. Chihuahua eyes? No? Poodle eyes! Am I getting warmer? He’s lying to you, Keener. Let him suffer alone.”

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that Mr. Stark just compared my eyes to a _poodle_?”

“I dunno, the idea of Pete groveling kinda just makes it worth it,” says Harley, pretending to muse. 

“I am not _groveling_.” Peter sniffs. “I am in dire pain and you’re contractually obligated to save me.”

Tony hops onto his worktable, crossing one arm across his chest and drawing the other hand down his face. A beat later, Harley hops onto the table next to him.

“Harley,” Peter tries again. “Harley. Harley. Harley.”

“Hm,” says Harley. “This pesto better be the holy grail of all pesto.”

“It’ll be the Dixie cup of all pesto, is what it’ll be,” Tony scoffs. “He’s not even Italian.”

Peter shoots him a dirty look. “I’m Cuban and Jewish, Mr. Stark, not an idiot.”

Tony waves his hand dismissively in Pete’s direction. “You grew up with a woman who sets off the fire alarm so many times that nobody leaves the building anymore when it goes off.”

“Okay, first of all, _un_ fair--”

Tony turns to address Harley. “I’m telling ya, kid, just settle for a sandwich and a daily compliment from him. At least you’ll get something out of the deal.”

Peter looks as if for once in his life, he thinks Tony doesn’t have a half-bad idea. “Just to be clear, the sandwich is one-time, not daily.”

“Oh my God, Spidey-Tighties,” Harley groans. “Just--show me what you have.”

Peter dutifully swivels the office chair around so he can grab the file from the desktop and transfer it to the tablet nearby, and hands it to Harley.

Harley takes one look at the first paragraph and says, “Oh. Oh, God.”

Tony’s already snickering before Harley can unleash another string of bemoaning phrases.

“Mr. Stark, if I didn’t know you would personally jump into the Hudson River to save my ass--which, unnecessary--I’d say you’re trying to destroy my self-esteem on purpose.”

“It’s really not a bad start,” Harley says faintly, clearly trying to make a save. “You just--I guess there’s just too much going on at once?”

“Dude. Story of my life. I had way more than that originally drafted, trust me. It just got a little hard to figure out how to reword _fought a giant homicidal grape from outer space and actually kind of literally died_ as a normal, healthy challenge in life that made me grow into a normal, healthy teenager.”

Tony cackles again, off-kilter.

“Well, what did _you_ write about in your admissions essay, Mr. Stark?”

“Abandonment issues and daddy trauma,” says Tony without missing a beat.

“Oh, God,” says Peter.

“In my defense, I was fifteen and minors couldn’t go to therapy.”

“Oh, Jesus,” it’s Harley’s turn to say.

“Going down the list of names in the Holy Trinity now, are we?”

“Write about being an orphan,” Harley interjects pragmatically, scrolling to the last page of Peter’s increasingly disorganized draft, and handing the tablet back to him.

“Ew. That’s--I’m pretty sure loads of people write about being an orphan.”

Tony lifts a brow. “Should I be concerned about these ‘loads of people’ you know?”

“What about just writing about being Dusted?”

Peter groans. “I am definitely not a poet and I am _not_ subjecting the poor admissions lady to my ramblings about my OCD. I’d just be like--hey, I was kind of dead for a couple years and then I wasn’t, so all of a sudden I can’t go to the fucking beach and I stayed up all night repainting my bedroom walls?”

“Christ, we need therapy,” Tony mutters.

Harley shoots him finger guns. “Already got some.”

“Yeah, well, we need more.”

Peter flops his cheek onto the top of his chair glumly. “Maybe I should just write about the traumas of being Tony Stark’s prodigy.”

Harley feigns a dramatic gasp. “Oh my _God_ , Peter Parker, you’re a _genius_!”

Tony throws up his hands. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Peter flushes. “Wait--no--I wasn’t actually serious--guys. Come on. I wouldn’t actually say in my essay that I know Tony Stark. That’s, like--nope.”

“Ouch,” Tony deadpans.

Peter rolls him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“No pesto for you.”

“Nobody was making anybody pesto in the first place, get with the program,” says Harley.

“That’s right,” says Tony. “I’m making it all for myself.”

“Right,” says Harley slowly, “because you’re Italian and therefore you suddenly know exactly how to make it.”

“You’re just some unknown pasty-ass white mixture,” Tony says. “You’re in no position to speak.”

Peter heaves the umpteenth dramatic sigh of the day. “You’re right, we all do need therapy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Incidentally, this was also inspired by my current job application, which i'm struggling with because the university is requiring not just a cover letter and CV, but also a research statement *and* a teaching statement *and* a diversity statement and I. just. sort of shut down after trying in vain to come up with something coherent for essentially three different essays in one day. Good _night_.
> 
> Don't forget to drop a comment or a giggle if you enjoyed this! Thank you and I love you all <3 -kaleb
> 
> my tumblr: theoceanismyinkwell  
> my insta: kc.barrie  
> my wattpad: kalebbarrie


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